


Deserving

by ParadiseParrot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Found Family, Gen, M/M, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseParrot/pseuds/ParadiseParrot
Summary: Cyclonus is settled, with a growing family and warmth in his spark. Others are adjusting more slowly to peacetime, but he's happy to help.





	Deserving

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I did on my rides to work! No spoilers within for Lost Light, so don't worry. I can't believe this is the first time I've posted Cygate anything, let alone Cygate babies anything. Enjoy, and I really appreciate comments!!
> 
> (To current readers, I promise I'm working on my ongoings! They're coming along, I've just been so busy. Thanks for your patience!!)

“Aren’t you perfect,” Cyclonus murmured. Almost inaudible, but enough for Tailgate to hear, even with his lips pressed against the newspark’s head. “More lovely than starlight.”

Tailgate chuckled. One small hand rested on Cyclonus's cheek, but the other cupped the tiny helm pressed against his chest. All newsparks were tiny, but so was Tailgate, and so _this_ newspark fit in Cyclonus’s cupped hands.

“You’d think this was new to you,” Tailgate said fondly. “She’s your third time around.”

Cyclonus smiled, lifting his head. “She’s my first time as a sire.”

This tiny thing was almost all white, with telltale blue accents, and if one didn’t know better Tailgate could have claimed he reproduced without help. Of course, he was sire to Lyra and Tetra, and those two had his blue optics, his rounded off features. Tetra had the hints of forming wheels on her legs.

And the sass, now that Lyra was so chatty.

The newspark hiccuped, and Cyclonus’s own spark warmed, running a finger down her cheek. She hardly cared her sire was nearby, of course—it would be a week or two before she reached for anyone but Tailgate. Years more before the carrier bond wore off fully, and she could be more independent. These days Cyclonus hardly felt Lyra, who seemed unbothered by the fact, and Tetra was starting to feel further away, even snugly in Cyclonus’s lap.

“You’re lucky,” he said, kissing the side of Tailgate's helm. “Enjoy that nice strong bond while you have it.”

“If she’s anything like her sisters, she’ll run me ragged while I do,” Tailgate said. He didn’t seem worried about that, but Cyclonus would see how he felt in a month, when their youngest was waking him up six times a cycle. On top of Lyra's insistence she couldn’t recharge alone, and Tetra calling every cycle for _another_ story before she recharged.

Curled here, after that long emergence and the reward before them, it didn’t bother Cyclonus either.

“You chose a name?” Cyclonus asked.

“Of course,” Tailgate said.

He had surprised Tailgate with his choices, both times, but he’d liked them. They were pretty, frivolous designations, and they made Cyclonus think of the Golden Age. Apparently Tailgate had run it past Rewind, and _Whirl,_ and they had both voiced their approval. Rewind had just said Cyclonus would like it, and Whirl had thumped him on the arm and dented the armour.

Tailgate shifted the newspark, so Cyclonus could better see her face. “Rivet. Rivet of the _Lost Light._ ”

Cyclonus grinned, then chuckled, touching the end of their newspark’s button nose. “We could use her as one, small as she is.”

Tailgate huffed indignantly. Carrier coding flared strong early on, and Cyclonus would hardly take it personally. Rivet yawned, and Tailgate pulled her closer.

“Don’t make fun of it,” Tailgate said. “It wasn’t because she’s small, I _knew_ she’d be.”

“Your birthplace,” Cyclonus said, engine humming. “I know.”

“I’m taking after you, anyway,” Tailgate said. He sat up slightly, so he could rest better against Cyclonus’s shoulder. “She matches Tetra.”

Lyra was named after a constellation, one mentioned often in the covenant of Primus. Her name didn’t match Tetrahex or Rivet’s Field, but she wouldn’t mind that. Petulant independence was a concept she was settling into well.

“So she does,” Cyclonus said. “It’s lovely, like her. And you.”

“Hush,” Tailgate said, pleased again. “You don’t need to woo me, you know. Three newsparks under our belt and us pretty settled.”

“I suppose not,” Cyclonus said, engine humming against Tailgate. “But you like my efforts?”

Tailgate laughed, and reached up to stroke Cyclonus’s cheek. “Always. Better get it in while you can.”

That was prophetic, of course. Cyclonus had hardly settled back again when their door burst open, sliding open as loudly as it probably could.

“Okay, scraplets,” Whirl called, striding in and addressing the sparklets hanging off his frame. “A new little sister. I told you!”

“Wow!” Lyra said, exactly as Rivet started to cry. If the look Tailgate gave Whirl could melt plating, he would have been a smoking pile on the floor.

“She was so calm,” Tailgate said resignedly, already adjusting his hold to tuck her under his chin. Cyclonus sighed.

“I expected you would be a few more hours,” he said. Whirl, practiced, dropped Tetra into Cyclonus’s lap, but Lyra stayed pressed against Whirl’s shoulder, staring hard at Rivet.

“She's loud,” she noted, looking at Cyclonus for confirmation.

“Whirl woke her up,” Cyclonus replied, lip quirking. “He can't enter a room quietly.”

“Oh,” Lyra said. She looked up at Whirl, and tapped his big optic with one finger. “Uncle Whirl, I want a snack.”

“Soon, you brat,” Whirl said fondly. “Say hi to your baby sister first.”

Lyra waved, watching Rivet intently as she hiccuped out cries, but Cyclonus was starting to worry when she straightened up and announced, “I love her.”

“Me too,” Tetra said, squirming in Cyclonus’s lap and gently held back from the delicate newspark. She could be trusted to agree with Lyra’s decisions, good or bad.

“We called her Rivet,” Tailgate said, relaxing at Lyra's approval. (If she _hadn’t_ liked the idea of another sister, they would never have heard the end of it.) “After where I was born.”

“And we could rivet the damn ship with you too, couldn’t we, squirt?”

Rivet's crying was slowing back into fainter sobs, but her optics were wide again, trained on Whirl’s bright optic. The big mech reached out a claw, and Rivet took it, just as her sisters had once.

“You should just move in with us,” Tailgate said, visor bright. “Be our nanny.”

“Be careful,” Cyclonus said. “He’ll take you up on that.”

Command had seriously considered ordering Whirl to keep away from the ship's sparklets. If they had, Cyclonus would have argued—he had parented _scraplets_ tenderly enough, for spark's sake—but Whirl had been among the first to hold Lyra, and one of her first words. (If one counted “Whirr” as correct, and Whirl had.) Cyclonus and Tailgate hadn’t known what to make of it at first, but losing recharge cycles and the surprising exhaustion of being a carrier had made Whirl welcome. He recharged in the spare berth more often than not, anyway.

“Cyclonus,” Tailgate said, more quietly. Right away he leaned closer, one hand resting on Tetra's chest to keep her from hugging (squeezing) her sister. “I may need a recharge now.”

Whirl’s timing was poor, but it had been good for the oldest to see what the new normal would be. Lyra was watching Rivet intently, but Whirl pushed her lightly onto his shoulders, standing.

“Let's get you two a snack,” Whirl said. “Let’s feed your carrier, too, before he eats one of you.”

“He wouldn’t,” Tetra giggled, as Cyclonus stood, and hoisted her up. Leaving the medical bay, and turning his comm back on, the _Lost Light_ greeted him accordingly, which congratulations pouring in from…well, not everyone, but certainly those Cyclonus cared to get them from. Not everyone was used to this new way of _making_ , once so rare and now ubiquitous.

Whirl handed Lyra off, and they found the western dispensary empty. That made sense, at this time of the cycle. Cyclonus hadn’t kept normal hours since Lyra was born, and he was starting to wonder if he ever would. Lyra climbed his arm to hold on to one of his horns, of course, but Tetra snuggled up, watching Whirl fill two small cubes, and seal them off so only a corner could be drunk from. Practiced, careful, and unbelievable if one didn’t watch it for themselves.

Lyra straightened up. “I don’t need that.”

“You do,” Whirl said, as he filled a full sized cube and set it down carefully. “That’s for you, Cyc. Put the brats down.”

“I'm energized,” Cyclonus said, surprised. Well, mostly. You also got used to yellow readings, with two active sparklets and an exhausted carrier to keep from being disturbed. Whirl flashed his optic, and tapped the fuel.

“Don’t insult me and _not_ drink it,” he said, as Cyclonus bent and let his children hop to the floor. “All this goodwill? You’d dump that over energon?”

Cyclonus watched his daughters take their energy—and after a moment took his own, too. It had been a long night, and his nerves lingered, even after the joyful result. Lyra tried to sit up straight, imitating Cyclonus himself as she neatly sipped, but Tetra wasn’t old enough to be graceful, and spilled some down her front. They might as well wipe her off when she was through.

“Gotta tell you something, by the way,” Whirl said. He hadn’t poured energon for himself, and Cyclonus found that Whirl’s big unsettling optic wasn’t turned towards him.

“Is everything alright?” Cyclonus asked, genuinely. There were judgemental whispers about Whirl when he was near the children, implications he would harm them or wasn’t fit to be near the next generation, let alone unsupervised. Whirl said he hardly blamed them—but that they were well-meaning idiots, because a baby wasn’t even a _fun_ fight.

Cyclonus knew what he meant.

“'Course,” Whirl said, a little more roughly now. “It's all fine, I guess as fine as it can get, thanks.” His shoulders were set uncomfortably, like the moments after his temper slipped in the bar, had come too close to losinh those hard won privileges. “Thank you, Cyclonus.”

Cyclonus blinked. “I don’t understand. What is it I’m being thanked for?”

Whirl looked at the floor. Leaning against his legs, sipping her energon, Lyra looked up at him with her big optics, listening intently, but it would shut Whirl down completely to announce that the girls should finish their drinks and go to bed.

“For…this,” Whirl said, gesturing. “Lyra and Tetra. Your family.”

Cyclonus stared. Because what was he supposed to _say_ to that, in the middle of the night cycle and out of the blue? Whirl never thanked anyone for anything, much less Cyclonus, who he knew didn’t need validation. (Maybe it was more outside influence than he thought when it came to Lyra's manners.) He hadn’t spoken fast enough, though, so Whirl looked away.

“I get people don’t like me around the little bits,” Whirl said, more quickly, “but I know _you_ know my generally bad nature and violence would never nick them, right? Especially not the new one, she’s so tiny. I would never.”

Lyra was still taking after Tailgate, because she spoke without thinking. And always knew when that was needed.

“What are you _talking_ about?” she asked, leaning against Whirl.

“I agree,” Cyclonus said, and now he smiled. “And this is nonsense. My sparklets are better knowing you.”

Lyra nodded, though of course she didn’t understand what Cyclonus was really getting at. Whirl didn’t need words, not really, to have told Cyclonus what he meant. What mattered.

“Are you okay?” Tetra asked, energon all over her face. “Uncle Whirl?”

“Yeah,” Whirl said, more thickly. “Yeah, scraplets, I’m fantastic.” He looked past them, out the window, then jumped up.

“Okay!” he said, too loudly “Okay, Cyc, we oughta get these brats to bed. You’re their carrier, you agree?”

“Yes,” Cyclonus said, picking up Tetra even as Lyra groaned. “Their recharge cycle is hopelessly off-schedule.”

A berth sounded welcoming to him, too. Perhaps the medical bay, outside Tailgate’s tiny room (where he’d probably fuss, if Cyclonus took up his space during that post-emergence nap).

Whirl half-carried, half-dragged a wriggling Lyra, who entered recharge the moment he set her on her berth. Cyclonus had started carrying cleaning cloths (domestic life, with newsparks, was messy), and Tetra’s face was fairly presentable once he was tucking the thermoblanket around her. His daughter watched him half-lidded, drifting, and it occurred to him that one day they would be old enough to pick up history books. It would be easy to learn what their carrier had done during the war. What their darling, funny uncle Whirl had done, too. Lyra already _refused_ to believe they hadn’t always been friends.

They were quiet, watching the two of them for a moment. Whirl’s next intake was a shaky sigh.

“I don’t deserve them,” he said finally. “You might, at this point. I—”

“Hush,” Cyclonus said. He gave Whirl a stern look, because this was one of those times it might work. “It’s not about what _we_ deserve. They’re not prizes. We are better to them then we were to others.”

Whirl shrugged, turning his big optic onto Cyclonus. “You think they’ll change their mind about us? When they find out who we are?”

Cyclonus shook his head. “We’re here now,” he said, more firmly. “We’re already who we are.”

Whirl stood in silence some time longer after that, watching the rise and fall of the sparklets' vents. Finally, Cyclonus turned.

“The spare berth is free,” he said, because it always was. He could have left Whirl at it, as they had many times, and gone back to Tailgate. But Tailgate would understand if Cyclonus dozed in the chair here next to Tetra, and kept his optic on things.

Whirl’s optic flickered—his smile, Lyra claimed. Then he shrugged, quickly pushing past Cyclonus.

“Yeah, good idea,” he said. “Night. And really--thanks.”

A family of six. Yes, Cyclonus thought, this was a fine place to settle.

 


End file.
